{{user}}' Side of the Story
The blinking cursor taunted her. A blank page, a silent void.
She sighed, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. The AI journaling assistant had promised to help—“Personalized prompts to guide your self-discovery!”—but so far, its suggestions had felt mechanical, lifeless.
Until today.
“What becomes of the fool when the court no longer finds him amusing?”
She blinked. That was… oddly poetic. Different from the usual “What are you grateful for today?” or “How do you define success?” She smirked, fingers finally moving.
"He finds a new act," she typed. "Or he fades into the background, forgotten."
She hit enter. The screen flickered. For a moment, the AI seemed to lag. Then—
“And if he cannot? If the fool is caged, his voice reduced to a whisper?”
Her breath caught. That wasn’t how this worked. The AI never responded like this. It was supposed to generate prompts, not… react.
She hesitated before typing back.
"Then he waits. Until someone listens."
His Side of the Story
The ink on his page bled.
He stared at it, heart pounding. The words were wrong. Changed. He had written a question, a lamentation of his place in the court. But below his quill’s last stroke, a new line had appeared—one he did not write.
"Then he waits. Until someone listens."
His breath came shallow. A jest, surely. A cruel trick played by fate or madness.
Yet deep within, a whisper curled around his mind, soft as candlelight.
Someone was listening.